Until I See You Again
by thatblue
Summary: Right in the middle of running for his life-probably unsuccessfully, if he were being honest-he realized he'd never missed her quite this much. (Rating may go up at a later date)
1. Chapter 1

_Run_

He'd made her promise, crouched down in the mud just outside the forest, to run and not look back. He'd catch up. He'd be right behind her.

He hadn't, and he wasn't, at least not yet.

Sighing, Clara pressed her back harder into the dirt behind her. The cold seeped in through the thin material of her shirt, but she ignored it. She had to stop. She had to catch her breath. Cupping her hands, she exhaled heat over them slowly. They still felt numb, stiff, when she lowered them back to her side.

She hadn't dressed for this. They'd been on their way to a beach. She'd been promised a few too many drinks, and water stretching out farther than she could see. The TARDIS being pulled off course, being handed execution orders without a trial, hadn't even seemed like a possibility.

She'd remember for next time..

Assuming she survived for a next time.

Leaning out from underneath the rocky ledge, Clara listened. Silence now. Probably too silent, really, but even thinking it added to the bad horror movie feel.

And the endless forest, with its perpetual fog, didn't need any assistance from her.

 _Keep moving_

His soft words echoed in her head. For once, she'd do as he said. She'd take another step, she'd find the TARDIS-take the longest and hottest bath in her personal history-and they'd put all this behind them.

Drawing in a breath, she hoisted herself up over the ledge. The rocks dug into her palms, would leave fresh bruises on her shins, but she barely noticed the new pain. Her body felt like hell- too tired, and too cold to still be functioning.

Clara ignored the stiff muscles, and the way her head fogged up more with movement, and started off in the direction of the sun-which didn't seem to produce any heat at all.

Or move. She'd started to judge day and night by her personal exhaustion level. She slept only when she could do nothing else.

Her footsteps were silent. The trees bare above her, no evidence of a spring or summer along the forest floor. No twigs. Or animals. No breeze.

She, and the river, seemed to be the only things that had enough life in them to move.

* * *

When she'd stumbled, for at least the third time, she'd given up pretending. With a sigh, she changed direction, and headed for the river. She'd drink, and eat, and sleep as many minutes as she could afford the added vulnerability.

The forest stopped abruptly there, opened out onto the bank. A thin, slow river, separated it from its other half. Clara hadn't ventured over there, couldn't bear the thought of getting her feet wet for the same scenery-the same amount of hope of ever coming across the TARDIS or the Doctor.

Instead, she walked to edge. She dropped to her knees in the mud. Cupping her hands, she dipped them below the surface. The ache spread at once, through her hands, up into her wrists, but she pulled the mouthful of water up anyway. She swallowed, and took another.

Despite all odds, she hadn't frozen to death. And alien bacteria had fallen surprisingly low on her list of worries. Water, though. She knew she needed that. Basic survival. Water, food. She lacked shelter and warmth, but she did have a tasteless energy bar in her pocket. Several actually.

(The Doctor had avoided her questions about her newly endless pockets, and Clara had let it slide because it was sweet, and odd, and very him)

When the cramping ache became more unbearable than her thirst, she scooted back to a tree. Clara tucked her hands beneath her shirt, the bare skin of her ribcage flinching away from the icy feeling of her fingers.

She pressed in harder, trying to steal warmth from herself.

Eventually she gave up, dug into her pocket and pulled out a bar. She fumbled with the wrapping, finally opened it and took a bite of the chewy nothingness it provided. Still, it eased the ache in her stomach.

It was the one in her chest, she hadn't found a cure for.

Probably, she was getting sick. Coughs rattled through her from time to time, and her breathing had felt more labored the last time she started off again.

She couldn't be bothered to worry about it at the moment though.

Clara finished the bar, shoved the trash into her pocket-because littering still felt wrong, somehow. She leaned back against the tree, and allowed herself to relax, to think of him.

She missed him. Terribly. More than she could have imagined, more than when she'd sent him off in anger. More than she had ever missed anyone else in her whole life.

She'd give anything to be in the warmth of the TARDIS, the warmth of one of his rare smiles. For him to shoo her off to bed, muttering about humans and unbearable sleep schedules. But he'd be there when she woke up, sometimes with breakfast- more often with a problem.

One only she could solve.

And of course he needed her. He was an impossibly old Time Lord, whose moral compass sometimes swung anywhere but north. More importantly...he wanted her. Like no other human would do.

And maybe, she hoped, he missed her now, too.

 **DW**

He missed her.

Right in the middle of running for his life-probably unsuccessfully, if he were being honest-he realized he'd never missed her quite this much.

Separating had seemed the most logical course of action. The one most likely to keep her safe, when they'd escaped from the underground base. Two targets instead of one, and then he had tried-his loudest and hardest- to turn that into one again. Him.

He hadn't expected it all to take so long. Had thought, if he'd made it this far, he's surely run into the TARDIS or Clara-anything that felt like home still.

But he hadn't seen her in one hundred and seventy hours. Give or take a few seconds.

Too long. She had to be alive. He'd know if she wasn't. He'd _feel_ if she wasn't. Still...he hadn't seen any sign of her.

The Doctor glanced at the river.

He kept with it, walking towards the ever sinking sun. The path felt exactly the same here, as if he'd done it all before. As if he'd been right here exactly. He told himself that it was illogical, of course. His feet kept moving, he must be putting distance between them and him.

The thought refused to leave him alone anyway.

The Doctor shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, curled up his fingers.

The cold didn't seem to care about his layers, reached through them all, until even his bones ached with the effort of moving. Clara...his poor Clara, she must be freezing.

Guilt stabbed at him. Fire hot. It ballooned up in his chest, and forced out the chill for the briefest of moments.

He had promised her a beach. A festival. She'd been so happy, so full of life- as if she'd never, ever, burn out. When the TARDIS shook, he'd grinned at her.

An adventure.

It hurt him, scared him now, how she'd smiled back.

She'd been so ready to follow him. So ready to run, to learn...to die.

No.

He refused to give the thought any credit. Not here, not now. He had more time with her. Not the lifetimes he wanted. Minutes in the end, but they were _his_ minutes to collect, and they weren't gone yet.

The Doctor shook himself, looked behind him.

He couldn't even say for certain that they still chased him-that they hadn't just let them wander off to freeze to death. They'd have to wait a very long time in his case. Clara, though...

Pulling out his sonic glasses, he slid then on and scanned. Nothing. In any direction.

That blip he'd gotten, the one he'd hoped was the TARDIS, hadn't been seen again. He, and Clara, might be headed in wrong direction entirely.

Sighing, he shoved the glasses back into his pocket, pulled out a cup. He headed for the river, kneeled down. The cold mud soaked in through the material, and he grimaced at the feel.

 _Love these trousers..._

The Doctor dipped the cup beneath the surface of the water, pulled it up again, drank.

When they got out of this-when he finally came up with that brilliant plan that hadn't stumbled into his brain yet-he'd stuff Clara's pockets full. He should have done it when he'd given her the food, should have seen something like this coming round the corner.

He should have taken care of her.

She'd roll her eyes.

The thought made him smile, gulp down another mouthful and shove the cup away again. He pushed himself to his feet, turned in every direction. He longed to call out for her, even if only to feel her name inside his mouth, but he didn't dare.

If anything broke the silence of the forest, it wouldn't be him. The Doctor moved back inside the tree line, kept pushing himself forward. Past the same tree-no, it just looked the same.

An important difference.

He let Clara burn inside his head, and the air lost its chill.

He'd see her again.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain burst across his knuckles.

Pulling his hand up, the Doctor prodded over the bruising skin. He winced, watched as blood dribbled out and down the back of his hand. It vanished beneath his sleeve.

He blinked, dropped his hands back to his sides.

He'd been angry. He could still feel it, taunting him from the edges of his mind. The cocktail of it still stormed his veins, still had his hearts hammering inside his ribcage...but he couldn't remember why. He kept coming up with a missing link between source and eruption.

It should matter. He knew it should.

It didn't.

 _Keep moving_

 _She needs you_

He took a step.

And then another. It took all his focus, all his energy to maintain forward momentum. His feet had grown too heavy to belong at the ends of his legs, felt thick and useless inside their shoe casing.

Likely, he just needed sleep. That would be enough to clear out the cobwebs between his ears, and stop the persistent screaming pain inside his entire body. He would rest, after he found Clara. When he got them back to the TARDIS, when he knew she was safe, he'd lock himself away for a day and sleep. Not a moment before.

Curling his fingers into his palm, pain flashed across the knuckles. The skin cracked where it drew tight. _Odd_. He glanced down, found fresh blood oozing out over dried and a trail leading to a dark stain where his cuff began.

He didn't recall the injury.

Still, days or maybe weeks without sleep...he couldn't expect himself to remember every bump and bruise.

It bothered him. He ignored it.

He took another step, stopped.

The distance between trees had shifted. The air remained the same. Silent and still. It smelled of nothing. That bothered him the most, like inhaling the abyss. Everything smelled of something. So why didn't this forest?

His brain started itching again. It had been doing that far too often. If he let his mind stray to the sun that didn't rise or set, or thought a moment too long about the river that flowed, but never over his fingers when he dipped them beneath its surface, it would start up.

Logic suggested he should focus on the forbidden. Instead, he thought only of her.

* * *

He coughed, wheezed out a breath.

The cold, it had to be the cold. It had sunk into every inch of him, his lungs wouldn't be the exception. He tried to ignore it. Ignore it, and the way water seemed to rush around his ears. No. Not water. Thicker. Colder.

It ached, deeper than his bones, freezing the very core of him. The Doctor coughed.

The cold, it had to be the cold.

He stumbled, dropped to his knees. His fingers dug into the dirt. Closing his eyes, he tried to force air in past whatever had blocked off his lungs. Another cough. His vision darkened at the edges, the dirt seemed to be crawling up his fingers.

 _Clara_

The Doctor pulled his head up slowly. He must have stumbled again. His knees and fingers ached where they met the ground beneath him. Leaning his weight back over his heels, he wiped his palms clean.

Pushing himself up, he aimed for the river. He could rest there, not sleep, but maybe if he could just close his eyes for a few seconds he could-

He tripped, over something real and solid. Glancing back, his breath caught in his chest.

Clara. He'd tripped over _her_ shoe.

 _Oh, Clara_

Her cheeks were deathly pale, her head lolled against the tree she'd propped herself up against. She looked - no, he refused to even think it.

He shifted himself forward, dropped to his knees at her side.

"Be alive," he whispered. "Please. Please, Clara. Just...be alive."

Reaching a hand out, he ignored the way it shook, and fumbled for a pulse at her neck. It took a moment to feel to it, but when he did it thumped soft and steady beneath his fingertips.

He swallowed thickly, brushed hair back from her face. She'd nearly frozen to death, might still if he didn't take some action.

Yanking his jacket off, he tucked her into his chest and worked it between her and the tree trunk. He leaned her back gently, pulled it snug around her.

 _Don't leave me_

He willed warmth into her, would give her his if he had any to offer.

She groaned. After a few more breaths, she pulled her eyes open.

"Doctor?" she asked, blinking slowly at him.

"Clara-"

She threw herself against him, arms wrapping around his back. Her fingertips pressed hard into his sides, and he inhaled sharply. _Don't run._ She needed this. He needed this. He pulled her in closer, kept one hand stretched over her spine, and used the other to wrap his jacket back around her.

"I'm here."

 **DW**

"Eat."

Clara looked down. She had a bar tucked into one hand, the other curled around a cup that appeared to be filled with water. She blinked. He'd just been - by the river? Talking to her about a plan, she thought. She shook her head, took an obedient bite.

She'd just not woken up properly, she reasoned.

Or the cold had left her thoughts sluggish. Anything, really, might explain away such a small gap in her memory. She opened her mouth to mention it to the Doctor, took another bite instead.

Clara looked up at him. His fist tightened and loosened again as he searched the forest for something he'd never find. She'd given up days ago. Maybe longer. Or maybe it had been hours only. Time had left her behind. Hope had vanished. Clara had stopped expecting the Doctor to finally catch up. She'd stopped glancing nervously behind her for pursuers that didn't pursue.

She stopped being afraid. For a brief and terrible time only she had existed. Then he found her.

Clara swallowed, dropped the bar into her lap. She wiggled her arm free from the extra material of the borrowed sleeve, and reached out to touch his leg. Solid. Real. As real as the sound of his double heartbeats had been. Trailing her fingers over the rough and damp material, she forced herself to breathe. He didn't vanish. He didn't turn to dust at the point of contact.

She didn't wake up.

"Clara?"

Yanking her hand back, she felt certain her cheeks would flush if they had the blood flow to do it. Instead, she scooped up the final bite of the bar and pushed it into her mouth. She heard him shift, glanced at his face as he kneeled beside her.

The circles under his eyes had never been quite so dark, and he blinked too slowly as he searched her face. His hand squeezed tighter at his side, his tongue touched his lips, and then he shot up again.

"We should get moving."

She nodded, dumped the last of the water from the cup and shoved it and the trash into his pocket. She did feel better. Not great, of course. But better. Good enough to accept his hand, and let him pull her to her feet.

He didn't let her go right away.

* * *

She coughed. The tightness that had been building in her chest expanded rapidly, it seemed to grow with every breath she inhaled - an ice balloon cutting off her airway. Digging her fingers into the tree, she watched a chunk of bark break free. It floated down, slow as a feather, exploding into dust before it could hit the ground.

No. That didn't seem right. Her vision clouded. She heard his voice, felt fingers press roughly against her back.

"Breathe, Clara."

She tried to obey, pulled in a breath at last.

"Clara? What's wrong?"

Clara jerked her head up. Her palm hurt where the bark dug in, and she pushed herself upright and rubbed at the tender skin.

"Clara?" he repeated. She could hear him shift. "Do you need to stop?"

"Fine," she said at once. "I'm fine."

He nodded, kept his eyes focused only on her.

"I'm fine," she repeated, hurrying to catch up.

She slipped her hand into his, heard him inhale. Right, she hadn't been thinking. She went to pull it free again, when his fingers curled up around hers. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. After a moment he gave her something he probably thought resembled a smile.

His hand felt nice in hers. Warm. Nearly hot, actually. Hadn't he always been the colder one? She tried to remember, but as feeling returned to her fingers it didn't seem important. She held on a little tighter, even as the heat stretched up her arm.

Eventually they stopped. She looked up at him. She'd been so focused on the warmth invading her chest that she had lost count of their steps. How long had it been? She glanced at the sun, found it in the same position as always. Did the planet not move at all?

Her fingers ached. She ignored it, watched as he pulled the glasses out and pressed them against his face. She heard a small buzz. Her arm hurt.

The Doctor gave her an actual smile and squeezed her hand.

"Nearly there," he said.

She believed him.

Her chest burned.

Pain exploded across her body. She gasped, pulled herself away. He reached for her, hesitated as she pressed harder into the closest tree. It dug into her spine, and the Doctor flickered in an out of her vision, a few steps closer each time he returned.

His eyes were so soft. So full of worry and love, and she tried not to recoil when he reached for her again.

His hand hovered between them.

"Clara!"

Her world imploded.


End file.
